


Eating in Bed

by incoherentpiffler



Category: Maurice (1987), Maurice - E. M. Forster
Genre: Almost a day in the life but not if you'll understand, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Gardens & Gardening, Humor, M/M, Maurice is getting used to life with Alec
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 06:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18565585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incoherentpiffler/pseuds/incoherentpiffler
Summary: Not completely as the title suggests. Maurice and Alec have themselves a little cottage somewhere, as we all hoped for, with a garden and everything. They are both rather happy.





	Eating in Bed

**Author's Note:**

> These characters have well and truly taken me over. I haven't even read the book yet (hence why my visions of Maurice are Wilby-esque) and I have to restrain myself until I have the time to read it with all the care in the world. It's on my shelf, waiting.
> 
> I did reuse certain lines from the film, though I hope you don't mind. This was originally a ficlet I posted on Tumblr though I wanted to expand on it so it's a bit longer now. Still, I feel it could have been better, but I've had to get it out of my system before I inevitably spend all week procrastinating when I've got so very much to do.
> 
> Anywhom, I hope you enjoy :) x

Maurice found himself curled up in bed, alone, listening to rain patter against the shuttered window. Glimmers of gloomy sunlight painted themselves across the room, to whom he sighed.  
  
He heard the tinkling of a teacup and its saucer venture up creaking stairs, then felt the warmth of said crockery balanced upon his thigh.  
  
'Tea, Maurice,' murmured his lover, crawling carefully into their quilted nest of a bed.  
  
As he squinted heavy-liddedly at Alec he smirked, biting into a slice of toast. Maurice frowned.  
  
'Crumbs. Bed.'  
  
The smirk became a grin. 'I'll destroy the evidence, I can assure ye,' he said, a hand reaching to play with Maurice's hair. ''sides, _sir_ , I've only gone and made you breakfast.' He pouted in jest, curling a blonde ringlet round his forefinger.  
  
With a grunt, Maurice fumbled to retrieve the precariously-placed cup and saucer, adjusting to sit up against the headboard.  
  
'I'm not quite sure a cup of tea compensates for the mess you made last time, Alec,' he muttered and rubbed at his eyes, yawning. 'But, thank you. I hope you washed your hands, too.'  
  
'Course I did.'  
  
'I won't find any marmalade in my hair?'  
  
'No.' Alec moved to rest his head on Maurice's chest. 'I've least _some_ manners, y'know...'  
  
He received a soft kiss on the top of the head as Maurice wrapped an arm over his shoulder, smiling.  
  
'Yes,' another kiss, 'and _more_ to learn.'  
  
They lay in their embrace for some time, Maurice sipping his tea every now and then, returning each time to rest his chin in Alec's curls, inhaling softly. It continued to rain; this, birdsong, and Alec's occasional snuffling the only disruption from their companionable silence.  
  
Maurice yawned. 'I hope you're not getting too comfortable,' he mumbled, stroking Scudder's hair, hand moving to brush against his neck, fingers venturing beneath his shirt.  
  
'Was going to say,' Alec looked up at him, in a mock-scowl. 'Better be dressing yerself. We've work to do.' He took Maurice's hand and kissed it, tacky traces of marmalade from his lower lip left behind. Sitting up, he retrieved the teacup, bowing his head as he stretched to stand. Maurice watched the curve of his spine, the silhouette of his tousled head, and smiled gently. The cup and saucers' shared daintiness, Scudder's inherent roughness, a beautiful contrast.  
  
His reposed adoration was halted by a ruffled pile of clothes, thrown at him gently in a bundle from Alec, across the room.  
  
'I be heading out, now,' he said. 'Will 'ave to see if we've anything sprouting from this ere rain.' With a nod at the rattling window, then to Maurice, he padded downstairs.  
  
Maurice sighed, yawned again, then stretched, cat-like. He listened for Alec downstairs, the rattling of gardening tools, thud of boots, graceless slamming of the door.  
  
He smiled and sat up, humming, as he dressed. Alec had had some disorderly influence over him; he no longer cared about the creases of his shirt, how the rolled sleeves were inked by crushed berries, his own hands earth-stained. He liked to think that his descent into this new life; newfound permanence outdoors, evident in his suntanned skin, made him appear a humble counterpart to the original city stockbroker.  
  
Leaning against the sill to put on his trousers, Maurice opened the window, pushing out creaking shutters, the rain having ceased to a drizzle. He observed his and Alec's plot as he lit a cigarette, admiring their makeshift patches and hutch, bearing hens, their reclaimed greenhouse, its cracked windows traced with ivy leaves.  
  
Alec emerged from said greenhouse, gripping two terra-cotta pots, leaves emerging from both rims. He noticed his lover smoking at the window and laughed.  
  
'Stop faffin' round up there and come out!' He shouted, adjusting his cap.  
  
Maurice chuckled. 'I'll be down in five.' He shut the window, waving girlishly, blowing a kiss to Alec, who shook his head, smirking.

Pulling both braces over his shoulders he stepped into his shoes, heading down the stairs with his jacket tucked under his arm. He sat on the bottom step to tie his shoelaces, humming still.  
  
Stepping outside Maurice put on his jacket, looking up at the sky. He put out his cigarette and smiled at Alec, who was knelt on the ground, rehoming the terra-cotta sprouts in their garden.  
  
'Strawberries,' mumbled Alec.  
  
'I see,' Maurice crouched to watch him. 'What else have we to do?'  
  
Alec leant back on his heels. 'Could go check the chickens,' he pressed the soil down with his palm. 'Might be our lucky day.'  
  
'I shall have a look.' To this, Alec nodded, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.  
  
Maurice stood, and wandered over to their fenced enclosure, their four hens bustling about, feathery heads bobbing in dewed grass. Their cockerel was proudly positioned on a tree stump.  
  
'Hello, ladies,' Maurice mumbled with a salute to the rooster, stepping over the fence, muttering apologies to the hens as they scurried about his shoes.  
  
With care he inched the hutch roof open, revealing two eggs in the dusty straw. He gasped - it _was_ their lucky day. They had housed chickens for weeks now, lost one to the paws of a hungry fox, though never found eggs anywhere.  
  
He plucked them out and brushed them against his lapel, as he would a cricket ball. 'Alec, we're in luck!' Spinning to show him, he grinned toothily. 'We have eggs! Would you believe it?'  
  
Alec rushed over, wiping soiled hands on his thighs, smiling at Maurice's excitement. He took off his cap, holding it out. 'Best keep 'em safe, then.'  
  
'Whatever shall we do with them?' Maurice placed them into the hat. 'I'm sure we've ham somewhere. We can lunch on omelettes. Oh, Alec, we'll feast like kings!' He hooked an arm over his shoulder, kissing his hair, thanking the birds. 'Well done, girls.'  
  
Alec chuckled. 'Ne'er seen you so eager, Maurice,' he passed the cap to him. 'Go, put 'em safe in the house, and I'll go digging and see if we've owt else edible.'  
  
With this, Maurice left and returned in little time, trowel in hand, joining Alec, who was back at their vegetable patch, in search of potatoes. He had already found three, rather small in size, though fully grown. They embarked on an inspection as they dug through wormy soil, inevitably pulling out a whole manner of things - potatoes, carrots, and a collection of bulbous onions.  
  
Once contented with their modest harvest, Alec ventured into the trees in search of mushrooms, leaving Maurice to rake and loosen the soil, in preparation for future planting. His domestic reverie was distracted as the rain became heavy again. So, basket in hand, Maurice went back into their cottage and left the vegetables to soak in the sink.  


  
Upon Alec's return home, Maurice had run a bath, and was reclined in deep thought before the front door slammed open. He was smoking a cigarette in the bath's steam whilst he listened to Alec's thuddy steps up the stairs, and looked up at him as he pushed open the bathroom door with his forehead, avoiding muddy hands on the doorhandle.  
  
'Hullo, forager,' murmured Maurice, resting an arm on the bath's edge.  
  
Alec grunted in reply, already removing his sopping clothes.  
  
'Tap end?'  
  
'H-m.'  
  
'All right, then.' Maurice adjusted himself, bending his knees to allow space for Alec, who appeared utterly tired and bedraggled. It didn't take much time for him to clamber in, breathing a shuddering sigh of relief.  
  
'Got worried I were getting lost,' he muttered, rinsing his hands, running them through his already-soaked hair. 'Giss that,' he reached for Maurice's cigarette, which he was handed, taking a deep drag, sighing again. 'Bit tired now, one thing and another...'  
  
'I'm not surprised,' said Maurice. 'You've been rather busy today.' He smiled softly.  
  
Putting out their cigarette Alec retrieved the soap behind him and began to wash himself. Maurice watched as he did so, admiring his bronzed shoulders, the darkness of his hair. He sat up, meeting Alec in the centre of the tub and kissed his forehead.  
  
'Careful, Maurice, else you'll spill,' Alec muttered, and kissing his lover as he wrapped an arm around him.  
  
He chuckled. 'H-m.' Smiling gently, he took up the sponge and helped Alec to wash. Alec rested his head on Maurice's shoulder as he did so, his hair occasionally dripping, cold, onto Maurice's back. He inhaled with a shiver.  
  
'Maurice-'  
  
'Yes, Alec?'  
  
'S'pose we make our dinners and feasted in bed,' he requested, leaning to kiss his neck.  
  
'I could be persuaded,' Maurice divulged, leaving their embrace to rest against the curve of the bath, as though he were the armchaired leader of some business, accepting a deal. He smirked. 'Although you'll have to promise I won't be finding mushrooms in the bedsheets.'  
  
Alec laughed. 'Ay, Scout's honour,' he assured.  
  
'Then I will go and fire up the stove.'  
  
Maurice stood, grasping a towel from the floor. Folding it around his waist, he gazed at Alec and smiled gently.  
  
'Better not drop them eggs, Maurice,' Alec jested.  
  
'I assure you I will not,' Maurice chuckled, stepping out of the bathroom, with a three-fingered salute.  
  
He dressed, quickly, in their bedroom, a loose woollen sweater and pyjamas bottoms, then went downstairs to cook.  
  
It wasn't very long until he was joined by Alec, arms around his waist from behind. He burrowed his nose into Maurice's back, then peered over the side of his shoulder in observation. He had dressed, too, in a similar manner.  
  
'It's a peculiar notion, when you think about it,' Alec murmured.  
  
'What is?'  
  
'Us two men, at the stove,' he chuckled. 'Cooking our eggs, out our garden.'  
  
Maurice sighed softly.

'I do suppose it is.'  
  
Though, perhaps, peculiar was the best way to be.


End file.
